<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Better to Forget by DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868812">Better to Forget</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered'>DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:15:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sissy teaches Vanya how to fire a shotgun.  A little canon-compliant, pre-kiss intimacy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vanya Hargreeves/Sissy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Better to Forget</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Vanya’s mind is a box that looks empty, but is heavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the day she woke up on her back in the street, with Sissy and her son standing over her, before she saw the concern and panic in that soft, sweet face, there’s nothing.  Or at least nothing she can see.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows things, but doesn’t know how she knows them, or when she learned them.  But then on other things, she’s completely in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows what coffee is.  The smell summons something old and familiar, the taste warms her as she sits in Sissy and Carl’s kitchen in the afternoon light.  But Sissy has to show her how to make it. Vanya has not the slightest memory of how to use a percolator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t remember a family, but she has a sense of what a family is supposed to feel like. It feels like Sissy’s hand gently brushing her shoulder as she sets breakfast on the table. It feels like squeezing Harlan tightly so he doesn’t spin out of control when his block tower topples over.  It feels like his reassuring gaze when those strange, unsettling ripples of energy rumble somewhere in her soul that she doesn’t quite have access to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind is a box with a false bottom she doesn’t know how to open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya doesn’t remember her dreams, but she wakes up in the small, hard bed in the guest room, Afghan rolled around her in an inexplicable tangle, and her first thought is of Sissy.  She wants to roll over in bed and find her there, soft and sleep-rumpled, curled around her.  She wants Sissy to scold her for stealing all the covers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to know what it’s like to kiss her and taste cigarettes, stretched out in the straw, looking at the stars. Vanya doesn’t know how she knows, but she knows that whatever her life was before, in this one, she’s not supposed to want that. She doesn’t see anyone who lives that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy takes up a shotgun to scare off some coyotes.  Vanya watches her and something in her heart swoons a little. “Do you seriously know how to shoot that thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy laughs. “Honey, this is Texas. Don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya smiles sheepishly.  “Well, maybe it’s like the coffee percolator.  Maybe I did but I don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s easy. I’ll show you,” she offers, and God, there is so much invitation in her eyes when she says it. Vanya thinks she’d follow Sissy to the end of the world when she smiles that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Sissy lines up some cans on a fence post. She takes the gun, hoists it as comfortably as any other household tool, braces it against her shoulder. Squinting down the barrel, she aims it, and squeezes off a shot. A split second after its report, there’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>plonk</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the can being knocked off the fence post, and the brief whine of a ricochet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya doesn’t know if she’s wanted anybody more in her life because she still doesn’t know what’s under that false bottom in her mind, but if it’s possible, Vanya thinks she must be sweating on the inside looking at her, in her jeans and yellow blouse with the sleeves rolled up, shooting the cans off the fence post. She applauds loudly, because she can’t help herself, and because if she doesn’t find something to do with her hands, she’ll go touching Sissy, and if she goes touching her, she might do something stupid that she’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy grins at her. “Now you try.” She proffers the shotgun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya flushes and shakes her head. “Nah, I don’t think so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on now,” Sissy insists, “I said I’d show you, so… let me show you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awkwardly, Vanya takes the shotgun. There is nothing familiar about holding it at first. It’s metal, and still warm from Sissy’s hands, and from being fired. It’s heavy.  She doesn’t know where she’s supposed to put her hands. Sissy comes up behind her and gently takes one hand and wraps it around the barrel, and the other around the grip, behind the trigger. Sissy’s hands are a little sweaty, but Vanya likes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya tries to raise it and aim, and Sissy curls a hand around her wrist, and moves it up a little, so that it’s braced more securely. “Now,” she murmurs a little too softly in Vanya’s ear, “you’ve got to get your stance right, so…” She sinks down behind Vanya, and touches the sides of her knees. “Loosen your knees a little, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya obeys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy’s hand brushes Vanya’s calf. “This foot forward a little.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya clears her throat. Sissy stands up again, and there’s a gratuitous brush of her fingers at Vanya’s waist. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was no purpose to that touch,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vanya thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She just touched me because she wanted to.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A moment of accidental intimacy settles, and Vanya’s heart is in her throat for a second. She wants Sissy to touch her again. And again. As much as she wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She puts a hand on Vanya’s shoulder and points at one of the cans. “Aim at that one,” she says, and her voice is all silky in Vanya’s ear. “Show me what you got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya can’t really think of anything except Sissy’s hand on her shoulder, but she aims at the can, curls her finger around the trigger, screws up her face, and pulls. It’s loud. It’s like thunder in her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The recoil is more than she expects. She stumbles a little, and the nose of the gun tips upward. The shot lands somewhere in a tree. Something squawks and several black silhouettes of birds come fluttering urgently out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy catches her. “Good try,” she chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya’s ears ring a little, and she feels those strange disturbances in her soul again, those unknowns that thump around under the false bottom of the box in her head. She stays in Sissy’s arms a whole three seconds longer than she needs to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try again,” Sissy urges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Vanya’s had enough. The sound, the energy, the impact of the weapon going off in her hand poked at something in her psyche and she decides she’d rather not poke it again. The sensation of holding the gun was not familiar, but somehow, the power was, and she doesn't like that. “Nah, maybe later. My headache’s acting up again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sissy want to hustle her inside and give her some aspirin. Vanya lies down on the hard little bed in the guest room, and Sissy fusses over her as if she’s dying of the plague. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you’re cut out for farm life,” Sissy teases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya smiles crookedly at her. “You don’t want me to leave, do you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Sissy says, and she’s laughing, but she looks at Vanya and her eyes say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t go.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She brushes the hair from Vanya’s forehead and fiddles with the afghan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya doesn’t need all this attention, but at the same, she does. And more. She looks back at Sissy and her eyes say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sissy’s eyes say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not today. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanya doesn’t want the box to open. Not ever. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>